Hello from Renn Lake

by Michele Weber Hurwitz

  “How the lake is feeling,” I say. “And advice and comfort, when I’m upset.”

  “I love that. I can hear trees.”

  “You can?”

  “Yes. Since I was little, and my parents split up.” He gestures toward the cabins. “I spend summers with my dad, but, well, he’s always busy with something.”

  I nod.

  “Anyway, that’s when I started hearing trees. Some scientists think trees talk to each other through their roots.”

  “That’s so cool.”

  “Yeah. Like how insects communicate with sounds and vibrations. Trees can warn each other when they’re in danger. And they feel pain. They even know each other—there are parent trees, kids, aunts, and uncles.” He stretches out his legs; I can see the outline of his kneecaps poking through his skin.

  “Wow.”

  “I know, right? Incredible.”

  He puts his glasses back on. “Leo said he could hear trees too. I believed him at first.”

  “He was lying?”

  “I think so. He said a lot of things.”

  We sit there, quiet for a few minutes. Zach fiddles with the bottom edge of his shirt. A spider scurries near my leg.

  Zach clears his throat. “He broke up with me on February sixteenth. I didn’t even see it coming. I got kind of messed up for a while, lost a lot of weight, felt like nothing mattered.” He stares at the ground. “Everything I thought I knew about him was wrong. And the worst part? He found someone else, like, two weeks later.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Then after the breakup, our group wasn’t the same. It felt awkward, and weird. People sort of drifted to other friends. And I hid in my science notebooks. At least science makes sense. There are lots of days I’d take science over people.”

  He sighs. “My dad said I’ll find someone else, but…it was hard to see Leo in the hall every day with…I was really glad when school was over.” Zach swallows, tips his head toward the water. “So anyway, what are they going to do?”

  “I don’t know. They’re holding a meeting tomorrow night at the library.”

  “Are you going?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Can I go too, or is it just for people who live here?”

  “I think anyone can come.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  I stand. “Well, I should probably get over to the office. Are you…better now?”

  “Kinda.” He gets up and turns the other way, toward Main, laces flapping.

  “See ya later,” I call. He holds up a hand as he’s walking.

  Inside the office, Dad’s listening to a bunch of people, all wanting to know what’s going to happen. Mom’s on the phone, and every time she hangs up, it rings again. She keeps trying to explain that there’s a meeting tomorrow and the lake will hopefully be back to normal very soon. But from what I can tell, some people are cancelling reservations. A woman standing near Dad says there are pictures of the lake on social media and she shows the crowd her phone. “That’s the end of my vacation,” she says, shaking her head.

  Several Sharpies are on the floor by the Thought Wall. I pick them up, put them back into the cup, and straighten the stack of sticky notes. One note is on the table. I’m about to stick it onto the board, but it says: Renn Lake stinks. Literally.

  I crush the small yellow square in my hand. I don’t care about our Thought Wall rule, that anyone can write anything and it stays. I bury the paper in the wastebasket.

  Maya bursts into the office with Henry and Tyler trailing behind. She drops onto the sofa under the window, then wipes her forehead with the top edge of her T-shirt. She digs in her backpack and throws a couple of bags of fruit snacks to the boys. They sit on the floor in front of her, rip them open, and start gobbling them up.

  “Annalise.” She motions, and I walk over. “What am I supposed to do with these two? Their attention span is four minutes, if I’m lucky. I was planning a lot of activities at the lake. But now—”

  “Maya, forget about that. Did you see the new sign?”

  “Yeah, I know, it’s bad. But Annalise, I still have a job.” She taps her phone screen. “I’ve started a list of other stuff we can do. The park again, the candy shop, a scavenger hunt, water balloons, an obstacle course. You have any more ideas?”

  “No.”

  “Oh! We could cook, right?” She nudges Henry with her foot. “You guys like to cook? Like, pancakes? Cookies?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Henry says, crushing the fruit snack package.

  “Maya! The lake is contaminated! Unsafe!” My voice is high-pitched and shaky.

  She looks up. Tyler pulls her arm and she goes, “Shh. Not now.” She stuffs her phone into her backpack.

  “I looked online about harmful algal blooms,” I say. “It’s another problem related to climate change. They can last months and do a lot of damage.”

  Maya nods. “Listen, I was going to do it later after I drop off these two, but let’s put up the fest posters around town. My dad just got them from the printer. What do you say? It’ll take your mind off all this. You can’t just sit around and be sad all day.”

  I grab a tissue from a box on the table. “Okay, but—”

  “No buts.” She raises an eyebrow at the boys. “You guys can help too.”

  Tyler claps. “My mom says I’m the best helper!”

  I tell Dad where I’m going and he nods. People are still surrounding him, asking questions. “We’ll have some other activities in the meantime. Who likes ghost stories?” Dad says, trying to sound enthusiastic. No one answers.

  We walk to Maya’s house, Henry and Tyler thrashing bushes and poking trees with their lightsabers. She goes inside and comes back out a minute later with a stack of posters and tape.

  We’re on our way back to Main when Maya says, “Last night, my parents were talking about how this is a big problem in other places too. They were on the phone with my grandpa in Florida, and he said there’s a red tide and lots of dead fish right by his condo.”

  “Great. That isn’t making me feel better.”

  “It doesn’t mean that’ll happen here.”

  “But it could.”

  “Let’s not be all gloom and doom. They’ll figure it out and everything will be fine. Come on, we’ve got work to do!” She sprints ahead and the boys run to catch up.

  When we’re in town, Maya hands me some posters and rattles off which stores I should go to. “We want them front and center in the windows. We’ll have to share the tape. I only have one roll.” She looks at Henry and Tyler. “You guys give us pieces of tape, okay? That’s your job.”

  I’ve got the hardware store, the candy shop, and Alden’s.

  Maya starts to go toward the movie theater, then stops. “Do you want me to do Alden’s?”

  “No, no, it’s okay. I can.”

  “Sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I poke my head inside the candy shop and the owner, Lorelei, reaches for the poster without my saying anything. She grins. “I was wondering when these were coming.”

  The glass case seems a little sparse. Not as much candy as usual. “I’ll get the tape.” I glance outside but don’t see the boys.

  “That’s all right. I have some.” Lorelei hangs the poster in the window.

  “Thanks.”

  “Hope we get a big crowd this year.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  I walk out and look down the block. Mr. Alden is in front of the store, filling the water bowl for dogs. I tug down the cap, which I haven’t taken off since found day, and force myself to go over there. He glances up as I get closer, but my steps are slowing.

  Henry runs over and peels a couple of pieces of tape from his fingers and offers them to me. When I don’t take them, he
sticks them on my arm and dashes off.

  Mr. Alden straightens up, placing a hand on his back. He gives me a soft smile. Just like Mrs. Alden did. Last year on found day, she was arranging roses in bud vases. She put a pink one up to her nose, then held it out toward me. I could almost smell it through the glass.

  I stop a few feet away. All I can do is point to the window.

  He comes toward me and reaches for the poster.

  I pull off a piece of tape and stare at the fingerprints on it. When something bad happens, you can’t always just tape it up like my teacher told us.

  Trembling, I put the poster on a bench, then turn and fly across the street. Maya calls my name, but I don’t stop until I get to the pier. I walk out a little. Green, everywhere. Renn, voiceless. Me, left with no one who can understand.

  The next night, the library’s meeting room is jammed with practically everyone in town. Mom and Dad are sitting in the first row with Greg, but I’m standing along the back wall. I see Zach at the opposite end, near the door. I’m surprised to see his dad next to him. I try to catch Zach’s eye, but he’s studying something in his field guide.

  Jess insisted on going to Amy’s house to help her prepare for the audition. Maya’s not here either. She said she was too exhausted to get off the sofa, but I should let her know what happens.

  The Main Street store owners are sitting together in the last row: Lorelei, George from the hardware store, and Jean from the movie theater, wearing her pink rhinestone cat’s-eye glasses. Mr. Alden is in the middle of the row.

  Jean pats his arm. “We all miss her. She was one special lady, your Viv. Not a day goes by I don’t think of her.” Mr. Alden nods, and Jean hands him a tissue. He dabs his eyes.

  A woman at the front of the room says, “Hello, everyone. Welcome.” She’s wearing a brown shirt and khakis, and a man in the same uniform is standing next to her.

  She raises her hands. “If everyone could take a seat, or find a place to stand, and quiet down, please.” Finally, the room settles.

  “Thank you all for coming,” she says. “I’m Kim Bajwa, from the county health department. We know how concerned you are. We are too. Water is our most precious resource and we take our lakes very seriously in Wisconsin.

  “Algae is not a new issue, but we’ve been seeing an increase in the size and frequency of blooms. Polluted runoff is a cause, as well as our rising global temperatures. We work hard to monitor our lakes but, unfortunately, problems do occur.”

  She flips on the projector, taps a laptop keyboard, and a document appears on the whiteboard. “I’d like to share the results of the water-quality report.”

  There are lots of numbers, neatly displayed in columns and rows. I don’t understand everything, but I get this: it’s not great.

  Kim explains the data, and after a while, people start to shift in their seats. Mom and Dad are whispering to each other. Lorelei keeps shaking her head and elbowing George. Finally, Kim finishes. “My colleague Keith will explain further,” she says.

  Keith scans the room, stopping to rest his gaze every few seconds on someone’s face. “Well, folks, I’ll be honest, this isn’t easy to deal with. While there are several treatments for harmful algal blooms, they’re costly, may disrupt lake ecology, and usually aren’t a permanent solution. And, treating the algae can cause more toxins to be released into the water, making the situation worse.”

  Now I catch Zach’s eye. Exactly what he said and what I read online.

  Keith adds, “There just aren’t many good options for larger lakes.”

  Someone up front asks, “What do you suggest, then?”

  “The best long-term approach to reducing or hopefully eliminating algal blooms is to make sure that phosphorous is prevented, or at least significantly reduced, from getting into the lake.”

  Long-term? Can Renn even breathe? How long is long-term?

  Jean raises her hand, and Keith calls on her. “Could you explain what phosphorus is?”

  “Sure. Phosphorus is an essential element for plant and animal life, but when too much washes into the water, it can increase the chance a bloom will occur. Everything we do has an impact and can upset the balance. The problem starts in the land, not our water. Fertilizer, detergent, cleaning products, pesticides. Down the drain, the driveway, into the sewer. It all ends up in the lake—”

  Dad interrupts. “But isn’t there something that can be done right now?”

  “We’ve consulted the Department of Natural Resources,” Keith says. “Most of the treatments, such as pumping in air, circulating the water, or skimming the surface, were designed for ponds, not lakes. There are some new approaches being studied, but our recommendation is to wait for the bloom to dissipate on its own.”

  Wait? Not do anything?

  My heart sinks, past my knees and my legs and my feet, into the floor of the library, into the earth below. Into the earth’s crust, I think. Which must be cracking under all the bad stuff we’re doing to it.

  “How long will that take?” someone asks.

  “Every situation is different,” Keith replies. “A lot of factors come into play. Weeks, months, we don’t know.”

  Several people jump from their chairs. Dad looks like he might cry. Mom can’t seem to move. The shop owners murmur to each other: “My place was already skating on thin ice, now what’s going to happen?” “I was counting on a busy summer. My shelves are stocked.” “Mine too. I owe my vendors a lot of money.”

  Mom buries her face in her hands, then looks at Dad. “This feels as bad as the time a tornado damaged almost all of the cabins. I was little, but I remember we had no guests and there wasn’t any money to pay for repairs, let alone groceries.” She chokes up. “You know I stupidly asked if I could still get a birthday present?”

  Dad pats her back. “You didn’t know.”

  “Gramps almost sold the land. He got a terribly low offer, some fast-talking guy said he’d bail us out. I remember everyone argued. Gram wanted to sell. But in the end, Gramps said no. We rebuilt the cabins ourselves.” She sniffles and tries to smile. “Maybe that’s why the roofs and windows are falling apart.”

  Mr. Alden gets up slowly. The collar of his shirt is rumpled, and he has one sleeve rolled up, while the other is down and buttoned at his wrist. He’s still wearing his wedding band. Lorelei hugs him. “How you holding up?” she asks.

  “Some days good; other days, not so much,” he answers.

  “My husband’s gone years now, and I still think of him every day. It doesn’t get easier, but it gets better,” Lorelei says.

  What Mom said…Mrs. Alden…Wait…Everything’s swelling up inside me. I battle my way toward the door, brush past Zach, and finally tumble from the room.

  “Annalise!” Zach comes after me.

  I turn. “They’re not going to do anything!”

  “What can they do? It’s complicated.”

  “Something! Can’t they try one of those treatments? Maybe one would work. They’re, like, giving up!”

  “You heard what they said—”

  “No!”

  I bang open the library door and take off, sprinting madly down the streets. Park and Church and Main, up and down the blocks, until I finally stop in front of the candy shop and bend over, hands on my knees, breathing hard.

  There’s something leafy and coiled lying on the ground under a streetlamp. I look up. The long strand of ivy that was loose, dangling from the brick, hanging on for its life, fell off. It’s alone.

  A squeaky sound bubbles up in my throat. I swallow, try to soothe away the sudden scratchiness. I kneel, pick up the strand. The leaves are already becoming brittle, and one crumbles between my fingers.

  I open my mouth, start to say something, to the ivy, to Renn, to myself…I don’t know. But nothing comes out. I try again, but I’ve lost
my voice too.

  And then I know.

  Renn is dying.

  I am boiling mad.

  I’m having a tantru. Renn teased me that my outbursts weren’t tantrums, but tan-trus.

  I thrash about, throwing myself over my banks. I twist and whirl and swirl. I glare at the sun, at the earth, at the sky. I try to shove that shopping cart out from under me, but the thing won’t budge. At least I’ve rusted the handle.

  People. They’re like the flies that constantly hover above my surface. I have no choice but to put up with both of them.

  Most of my long, curving path from north to south is just me, coursing along, some parts high, other parts low. Miles and miles across the land. But at my end, in the south, Renn is there. Always ready to greet me with the rising of the sun. How are you this fine morning? Tell me a joke, play a game, lift my spirits on a gray, chilly, rainy day. Try to soothe me when I get angry and out of control.

  And now.

  It’s so quiet, so empty, I cannot bear it.

  Renn never hurt anybody. People made Renn sick, I’m sure of it. I don’t know if I can ever forgive them.

  There were times my cousin annoyed me, I admit, when I wasn’t in the mood to talk or play or hear a silly pun.

  Why did the river watch the news?

  I don’t know.

  To stay current!

  But I understand now.

  Remember? Renn asked me before the silence. Remember when we were really loved?

  I didn’t answer. But I do. I remember.

  More cancellations. Several cabins sit empty, with clean white sheets on the beds and fresh towels in the bathrooms, but no one to use them. When I open their doors to air them out, they feel forgotten, like a once-favorite toy that’s become dusty. Two have a wet-carpet smell. Mom and Dad cancelled all the repairs.

  They’ve been organizing supplies, updating restaurant menus in the binder, and constantly going out to check the lake. Each time one of them comes back, the report is the same: “No change.” They put out a few games on the grass in front of the office—a beanbag toss and badminton—but no one’s really played them.